Forbidden Love
by Nicolette C-137
Summary: The PPGs have gone separate ways in their personal lives, but two things cut across each of their worlds: crime-fighting and forbidden love. (Bubbles/Him(Lucifer); Blossom/Professor; Buttercup/Ace; Buttercup/Mitch) (dark/sexually explicit)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Powerpuff Girls or any of the following characters.**

 **A/N: Dare you to read this whole fic in the voice of the Narrator.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

The city of Townsville... WAS UNDER ATTACK!

It had started out like an earthquake. The ground shook with claps of thunder; the approach of heavy footsteps. Everyone knew relatively what to expect. They ran screaming through the streets, trampling each other. A man who'd been helping an old lady across the street, left her in the middle of an intersection, allowing her to be run over by a coward who'd only end up in the inevitable traffic jam. People abandoned their vehicles. From a bird's-eye view, Blossom thought the citizens looked like a colony of panicked ants; many of which, she understood, were about to be stepped on. When the cyclops finally reared its ugly head, Bubbles' first instinct was to try and reason with it; an approach that rarely worked, but she refused to kill a potentially innocent creature, without at least attempting to rectify the situation with peace. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those exceptional cases. They were going to need to use brute force. Ignoring Blossom's commands, Buttercup jettisoned toward the one-eyed monster, and sent it flying with one punch. It crashed into a nearby skyscraper, knocking it over, and creating a domino effect with the surrounding buildings. The sisters gasped, watching in horror as they toppled; citizens screaming as they ran frantically below. "Look what you've _done!_ " Blossom gestured toward Buttercup's fuck-up. "Don't you ever _think_ before you _act?!_ " Buttercup's face reddened with shame, and maybe irrational, misplaced anger. She wanted to defend herself, but knew she had only herself to blame. "I'm sick of you constantly undermining my authority! You're a much bigger threat to society as a Powerpuff Girl, than you are as a member of the Gangreen Gang." Tears welled up in Buttercup's eyes, but she refused to shed a single one. Bubbles was the crybaby, not her. She flew away at warp speed, leaving her sisters to deal with the consequences of her actions.

* * *

Lucifer happened to be amused by the havoc Buttercup had accidentally wreaked upon Townsville; laughing maniacally at the images displayed on his television screen.

He'd always made sure to keep a close eye on the Powerpuff Girls.

In recent years, they'd gone separate ways in their personal lives. Blossom was the only one to had not yet flown the coop, since she worked in the lab with Professor Utonium on a daily basis. Bubbles had secluded herself to a cabin in the woods—like Fuzzy fucking Lumpkins—where she spent her days in front of a canvas, or making friends with squirrels. Buttercup had quite literally shacked up with Ace.

After replaying the scene a few times, Lucifer clicked the channel-up button on his remote-view control, changing to Buttercup's particular 'channel.' Deep within the bowels of the city dump, she was curled up on the ratty couch in Gangreen Gang's dilapidated shack, pounding beer from the cooler that they referred to as 'the fridge.' As always, when a Powerpuff had innocent blood on her hands, Buttercup was nearly catatonic. Listening closely to the voice in her head, Lucifer could hear as she silently contemplated the idea of dropping out of the Powerpuff Girls, to dedicated herself fully to the Gangreen Gang, which she'd already been initiated into. She didn't want to give up the thrill of kicking ass, but for every few citizens the Girls saved, they'd unintentionally cause the death of another; and that was especially true for Buttercup. She knew she'd also never be able to respect Blossom's authority, and was sick of receiving an earful about her relationship with Ace. In Blossom's eyes, she was sleeping with the enemy. In Buttercup's opinion, Blossom was too cold and calculated to understand the irrationality of love. Her relationship with Ace felt, in itself, like a crime of passion.

* * *

With another click of a button, Lucifer switched to Blossom's 'channel,' exposing the private world of Professor's laboratory, wherein the two of them—on the verge of a scientific breakthrough—had begun to conduct experiments of sexual chemistry; testing one's reaction to the other's touch, and gauging the various results.

In a hurry for more, Professor carelessly knocked vials and beakers off the lab table and onto the linoleum, whereupon glass shards had spread and chemicals now pooled. He grabbed Blossom by the waist, and lifted her onto the tabletop, as though she were weightless; slipped between her spread legs—which she wrapped around his waist—and pressed himself against her. They kissed feverishly, until they were panting for breath; connected temporarily by a thin string of saliva. They pressed their foreheads together, and matched their breaths to each other's pace. Blossom had a feeling of being in exactly the right place, at exactly the right time; and time was standing still. This felt right to her. People could tell her it was wrong, but _they'd_ be wrong to tell her so. There was nothing perverse about this. It wasn't like she had a 'daddy kink.' She'd viewed Professor as less and less of a father figure, since the onset of puberty, while his love transpired beyond that of parental affection. In the purest, most unadulterated of ways, he'd always felt differently toward Blossom, than he had toward Bubbles and Buttercup. She'd always been his favorite.

* * *

Lucifer clicked the channel-up button, once more, scooting toward the edge of his seat. With her sisters out of the way, he could finally concentrate on Bubbles. The sugariest Puff had always stood out most to Lucifer. Initially, he'd been intrigued by her purity—an innocence waiting to be corrupted—but was further enthralled by the surfacing of a repressed dark side. She was like a blanket of pure snow over a thick layer of dirt. Which made sense, when he thought about it: Bubbles was a sensitive person; a whirlwind of positive _and_ negative emotions. She was highly empathetic; a sponge for the feelings of others. Her imagination sometimes took her places she didn't want to go, and she harbored many irrational fears. Her innocence itself rendered her easily disturbed. A glimpse into her nightmares could totally eclipse the sunny disposition of her daydreams. It was only as Bubbles had begun to develop, that Lucifer's obsession with the corruption of her innocence transpired into a sexual nature, bringing him to a sickeningly sweet revelation: The dark prince of fallen angels had fallen for an angel.

In the sanctity of her secluded cabin, the flower child was currently painting a beautiful landscape. It was a talented piece, though Lucifer preferred her more cathartic artwork—angry scribbles, really—which he'd inspired her to paint. She'd pour all of her negative emotions onto the canvas, and walk away cleansed of them. Lucifer's favorite piece, however, was a portrait of himself that she'd painted from memory. It was stashed away with the angry scribbles, beneath the creaky floorboards.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Insomnia plagued Bubbles, that night, like many others. Mysterious noises could be heard throughout the house, and they were putting her on edge. She tugged the blanket up to just below her eyes, watching out for anything suspicious. The shadows on the walls were creeping her out, and she nearly screamed at the sight of a man's silhouette, before realizing it was just the cardboard cutout of one of her favorite pop idols. She was beginning to think she'd prefer to sleep in utter darkness. Perhaps, she'd finally give up on nightlights, and Buttercup would have one less reason to pick on her.

More importantly, though, she sensed that increasingly familiar presence; a creepy, yet oddly comforting sensation, as though it were merely watching over her.

They say, if you feel like you're being watched, you probably are; but it's apparently caused by the peripheral detection of someone's eyes on you, and Bubbles was usually alone when she experienced the sensation. She'd searched the cabin for hidden cameras—which was unnecessary, since she occasionally experienced it in public, too—but obviously found none. It was as though she were being watched by the eye of God. In actuality, it was probably the devil.

She thought of it as her guardian fallen angel.

Rolling onto her side, Bubbles fished around for Octi (a childhood relic that she could never bring herself to get rid of). She brought him to her lips and graced him with a kiss.

"It's just my imagination, right?" She whispered to the stuffed octopus, knowing she wouldn't get a response. "You'd always say I have a big imagination." She prayed for one anyway; she always did. It was a funny thing to pray for, considering whose voice she was hoping to hear.

Growing up, she'd always considered Octi to be her very best friend; the keeper of her secrets. One day, out of the blue, he'd started talking back to her. Suddenly, someone understood Bubbles in a way no one had ever had; in ways she hadn't thought were possible. She could still remember bits and pieces of conversations they'd had; secrets they'd shared in the dark; the sound of whispers; the clandestine atmosphere. She'd felt betrayed—heart-broken—to learn she'd been manipulated; chewed up and spit out; used ironically like a toy. She'd been so angry and frankly hurt, she'd almost considered getting rid of Octi, but held onto it, anyway, and actually grew to cherish it more deeply with each passing day; though in a nostalgic way, as she began to feel an emptiness about it, where it used to fill a place in her heart.

On nights like this, Bubbles felt so completely alone, like no one in the world truly understood her—not because she was complex, necessarily, but because certain facets of her personality had always been overlooked—though she knew she was very much understood, and definitely not alone; not tonight. There was one individual who truly knew Bubbles. No one else had paid such scrupulous attention to all the intricate details. No one else had ever related with her on so many levels. Maybe—she reasoned—that was because there's a little bit of the 'devil' in everyone.

Eventually, Bubbles drifted off to sleep, holding Octi tightly to her chest.

She dreamed about frolicking through an enchanted forest, chatting with whatever furry creatures happened to cross her path, when a white rabbit with piercing, red eyes, suddenly hopped forward and relayed a wordless, telepathic message. She reluctantly followed it down its hole, and slipped into the darkness; falling from the dream, slamming back into her body, and waking into the deepest state of sleep paralysis she'd ever experienced. That wiggle room she usually had—the ability to shake her head or twitch her fingers—was totally absent. She could only open her eyes; though, once she did, she deeply regretted it. The orange cast of her nightlight dimmed, until it was glowing red; the signalling of a sinister presence. Shadows of flames danced across the walls, reaching toward the ceiling. Bubbles felt increasingly hot, as though her body temperature were rising. Everything was fight or flight. Trying to regain control of her body and break away, she felt herself being invaded. That creepy, sing-song voice, echoed sweet nothings inside her mind; sending shivers up her spine, and giving her goosebumps. _"How does it feel to have me inside you?"_ Her body moved of its own accord, hand reaching down her panties. She attempted to scream, but no sound escaped her mouth. "It feels good, doesn't it?" She would've moaned in response, had she been able to. "I know, because I can feel everything that you're feeling." Her eyes rolled back in pleasure, as she convulsed involuntarily upon the bed. As she came down from her orgasm, the shadows of flames burned themselves out, the temperature and lighting returned to normal, and she slowly regained control of her body. She gasped, sitting upright in bed, and immediately broke down.

Her body felt too empty.

* * *

 _"There_ you are," said an irritatingly familiar voice. "I know you're the ones who robbed the convenient store." Blossom stepped out of the shadows in the dead-end alley.

"Oh, yeah?" Buttercup smirked, eyebrow raised; shaking her can of spray paint. "Why don't you arrest us?" The guys chuckled.

"Don't tempt me." Blossom narrowed her eyes at Buttercup's phallic doodles, before returning her attention to the wayward Puff. "Have you heard from Bubbles recently?"

"Not since the other day," Buttercup said, lighting a cigarette. "Why?" Blossom explained that, these past few days, Bubbles had seemingly refused to answer her door, despite obviously being home, on account of the activity inside the cabin: lights turning on-and-off; the sound of muffled voices and faint laughter. "She's probably just talking to squirrels," Buttercup said with a lungful of smoke. "Everyone knows she's batshit crazy, these days."

Blossom shook her head. "I've got a bad feeling about this. Will you come with me to her cabin?"

"Right _now?"_ She nodded. "'Kay, but we're walkin' 'til I finish my cigarette."

* * *

"Mitch stopped by, yesterday," Blossom informed Buttercup, once the Gangreen Gang was out of earshot. "I told him you've been pretty much living with Ace. He seemed pretty upset." Buttercup frowned. "I wish you'd stayed with Mitch." Blossom missed the days when Buttercup could be seen in her soccer jersey, kicking a ball around with Mitch, rather than robbing stores, smoking cigarettes, and spray painting walls in dark alleys, sporting Gangreen Gang's signature leather jacket. "He was, like, your best friend."

"Do we really have to talk about this, right now?" Buttercup threw her cigarette to the ground, and took off into the sky, trying to sweep thoughts of Mitch under the figurative carpet, but there was just too much to bury. She deeply missed the person she still considered to be her very best of friends, but it was Ace that she'd always felt romantically toward.

* * *

"Sign here."

Bubbles pressed a bladed quill to her left palm, making a deep incision, which allowed the shank to fill up with blood. She held the tip of the quill to a page in Satan's Red Book, and signed her name; selling her soul in exchange for the safety of Townsville. Once signed, the book and quill disappeared into thin air, but blood still rushed from her cut, and the scar would surely remain.

* * *

As Blossom had suspected, Bubbles didn't answer the door, so Buttercup kicked it down with a painfully loud thump. They waited for any sign of life in the cabin, expecting Bubbles to come running any moment, but it was eerily quiet and still.

"Bubbles?!" Buttercup called out, temporarily disrupting the silence. "This place gives me the creeps."

"Shh!" Blossom slapped a hand over Buttercup's mouth. "Did you hear that?" The tomboy listened more intently, finally picking up on a faint whisper.

They headed toward Bubbles' room, where she was found in a heap on the floor, wrapping up her bloody hand in a white bed sheet. "Bubbles!" They rushed toward her, and knelt on either side of her, practically cradling her, like a baby, because that's how they'd always seen her.

"How did this happen?" Blossom asked.

"I did it myself."

"On purpose?" Bubbles nodded. "Why?!" She averted her eyes, and stayed silent. "Bubbles, why did you do this?!"

"Were you talking to yourself?" Buttercup interjected.

"Octi." She averted her gaze toward the stuffed octopus on Bubbles' bed, feeling a chill creep up her spine, as she met its eyes.


End file.
